Forging Iron
by Fluttering Lullaby
Summary: Haymitch felt rather than saw Effie sit back to back with him, the cold steel of the bars mingling with the fabric of their clothing. "I'm scared," she whispered. He reached back underneath the bars and grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly. "Me too, sweetheart." AU.
1. Prologue

**Hey fellow fanfictioners. It's Lullaby and Phalanges here (a.k.a A Silver Cloud's Lullaby and Fluttering Phalanges a.k.a Grace and Jen). For the first time, we both have teamed up with each other to write a fanfiction, one of epic proportions. **

**Before we begin, we'd like to set a few things straight. Lullaby writes in Haymitch's POV and Phalanges writes in Effie's POV. Not all chapters will be broken up like this one. On the contrary, we both will be doing alternating chapters such as for instance, the next chapter is Effie's POV and the chapter after that is Haymitch's and so on. Now that we've got that covered, we hope you enjoy the prologue of "Forging Iron".**

* * *

_Title: Forging Iron  
Summary: In which Haymitch and Effie are imprisoned in the Capitol. AU.  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Rating: M for violence, language, and sexual harrassment  
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Sorry, lawyers!_

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Effie Trinket had expected many things when the Third Quarter Quell was announced. Publicity. Fame. Sorrow at the loss of surely one, perhaps even two of her tributes. Her name, if she were graced enough, in some book telling of her escorting journey that would be passed on from generation to generation. Never though, in a million Quells, did she expect to witness the explosion that seemed to engulf the whole arena into flame. Nor was she anticipating that just moments after the screen went black, the door would burst open and her consciousness, like the television, would fade into darkness.

...

_Ms. Trinket…_

The words seemed quiet and yet so heavy as they slipped seemlessly through the haze that cocooned Effie's mind. She knew neither from whom they came nor their purpose really. But they cut through the blanket of sleep that had woven her in so tightly-like a light through a spring fog. She listened, waiting to see if this were merely a dream.

_Ms. Trinket… Can you hear me?_

Louder this time. It was clear to Effie that this was no subconscious thought. Someone was calling to her. She tried to grasp it, hoping to be pulled out by this voice. Instead, she found it nearly impossible to do anything. It was as if every muscle, every nerve had been silenced by whatever had frozen her in the first place. She waited once more. It was all she could do now.

_Ms. Trinket? Hm, how unpleasant this is. You said she would be awake by now. Quite the pity. Perhaps a dose of that medication you mentioned earlier is needed. I do, after all, grow tired of waiting. I am only human._

Without warning, something thick shot through her veins. It coursed through quickly, a liquid so hot it seemed to burn throughout her body rather than flow. She was on fire now. Her heart beating more rapidly than ever. Blood pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Without any control whatsoever, her eyes flashed open, meeting a light so blinding it took away from the pain she previously felt.

"Ah, Ms. Trinket, so glad you are finally able to join us."

Effie tried to focus, her eyes watering from the painful luminosity. Slowly her vision began to adjust and the direction from where the noise had come became clear. The moment everything became visible, her stomach dropped, her heart now thumping from a new cause.

"I apologize for that."

It was President Snow who spoke, his eyes like a snake's, pinpointed on something in Effie's arm. She looked down. To her shock, some sort of strange IV had been placed in her. Its position was so crooked it looked as if it had been simply jammed in without a thought of caution.

"You must understand that you had been out for quite awhile. I saw no other opinion."

She tried to move, but in doing so, pulled on her IV. A jolt of pain shot through her and she quickly ceased her movements. Dazed and confused, she attempted to cower back in her seat, noticing for the first time her wrists were placed in two thick, metal restraints holding her down. She looked to Snow wide-eyed, trying to find her voice.

"There is no need to be fearful, Ms. Trinket. I mean you no harm, you must understand that." Snow said softly, soothingly almost. "I just require some help from you. Can you do that for me?"

"Help?" Effie asked weakly, her voice dry from lack of drink.

Snow nodded, "You see, Ms. Trinket, something awful happened today in the arena."

It took a moment, but slowly the memories of the day came back to her. "The explosion," she whispered. "The arena…"

Snow nodded once more. "Your dear tribute Katniss Everdeen seemed to find the urge to destroy my arena. Did you know of this, Ms. Trinket?"

Effie shook her head. She truly had no idea of what had happened. She looked up to meet Snow's gaze only to find he was frowning slightly. She knew this had not been what he had wanted to hear.

"Ms. Trinket, I only wish for some answers. Can you not find the decency within yourself to offer me such?" He leaned in closer, the mixture of blood and roses emanating from him. It made Effie lightheaded. "Can you tell me why she did it?"

Again, Effie shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I…I do not know why Katniss did that. Perhaps she was frightened or set up or…"

"Or was in on the rebellion?" Snow questioned, his voice suddenly cold. "Is Katniss part of the rebellion?"

"Rebellion?" Effie asked surprised, her voice suddenly louder.

Snow exhaled, his eyes shutting for a moment. "Please, don't play coy with me, Ms. Trinket. The false act of stupidity will get you nowhere, I can assure you."

"I have no knowledge of this rebellion!" Effie said frantically. "There must be some mistake!"

Snow genuinely frowned. "Why must you keep denying everything, Ms. Trinket? I only wish to help you. And by not helping me with this, you are not helping yourself. Your mentor, your tributes, your stylists-How can I believe that you know nothing when they all did? See my reasoning, Ms. Trinket?"

"I swear to you!" Effie was trembling now. "Why would I put my reputation at risk? Why would I destroy all that I have created for myself? Please, President Snow, believe me!"

Snow gave a sigh and to Effie's surprise, he stood up. "I am a reasonable man, Ms. Trinket. I do not use force unless need be. I do not harm unless I see it fit. But as of right now, you leave me no choice."

To her horror, Snow snapped his fingers and from a doorway she was just now seeing, a tall figure emerged. Effie watched as Snow walked towards the door, whispering something inaudible to her ears to the man.

"It's quite a shame, Ms. Trinket," Snow said in an almost believably sad tone. "I really did like you."

He exited the room before Effie could get another word to him. The door shut, and Effie's heart began to pound as the figure made his way towards her. She had pulled from a dream into a nightmare.

* * *

_Ow. Damn. What the—_

Haymitch Abernathy came into consciousness aware of one thing and one thing only. His head felt like it had been used as target practice for Johanna's axe swinging. It was splitting and cracking into his skull. He must have one hell of a hangover.

He shook his head to clear it.

_Bad idea._

Pain split through his head. His ears were ringing, and he could swear he could feel his heartbeat in his brain. He clenched his jaw and hissed through his teeth. Okay, so this wasn't any ordinary hangover. He either did something very stupid or made someone very angry.

Or both.

Haymitch racked his memory for any recollection of the night before. His head protested against the effort, but he fought through it. He searched his muddled thoughts. All he could remember were bright lights, spinning rooms, loud banging, and angry screaming. In Haymitch's life, it could mean anything. Not anything helpful, however. He'd need something more concrete.

Haymitch furrowed his brows trying to think harder. It brought another migraine, this one more painful than before. Was his brain trying to explode out of his cranium? He tried to bring up his hands to clutch his temples. For some reason, he couldn't. He couldn't move his arms at all. They seemed to be restricted.

Cautiously he opened his eyes. There was no light, thankfully, to worsen the headache. He looked around the room in a confused haze. It was dimly lit, and nowhere had he before seen. It was clean and sterile. It looked harmless, but Haymitch could sense the ominous air it held. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he realized he was tied to a chair.

Tied to a chair?

It was metal, cold and slimy even through his ragged clothing. Metal clasps attached to the armrests bound his wrists and triceps. Clasps of the same variety bound his ankles to the legs of the chair. As the throbbing in his head intensified, he could feel his temples thumping against a metal band that wrapped around his forehead, binding his head to the back of the chair.

Haymitch felt beads of sweat form around his temples and along his upper lip. It was enough to make his nose twitch, but he couldn't move his hand to itch it even if he wanted to. He was completely restricted for reasons unknown.

He only knew that something was very, very wrong.

Working past the pain creeping to his eyes, he searched around the room to find something—anything—of use. If he could find a nail or some kind of pick, he could scoot the chair over, topple it over, grab it, then try to free himself from whatever was going on. His survival instincts were screaming at him, along with his ache for a drink. He needed to get out of here. Wherever he was, he was in serious danger.

Nothing. Not a blasted thing was out of place in this way too clean room.

No, there had to be something. He was smart, he'd find a way. He just needed to focus, memorize his surroundings, analyze his situation, and construe a plan of action.

_It'd be a lot easier if this damn headache would subside!_

Okay, first things first. Memorize his surroundings. Where was he? He knew he was in a blank room. It was an ugly eggshell color with a door to his right and a barred window to his left. His shoes had been discarded somewhere, and the floor beneath his bare feet was cool and silver tile. There was something tickling his memory. Something that was desperately trying to give him a hint as to where he was.

Just before Haymitch was sure he had broken through the amnesiac barrier, the lights went out in his room. Adrenaline shot through his veins, alerting him of impending danger. Channeling his automatic frightened energy into determination like he's had to do for so many years now, he scoured the blackness to adjust his eyes. Once adjusted, he tried once more to focus on his memories, willing himself to work past the pain.

As Haymitch struggled to clear his head, to find out where he was, he was suddenly overcome by a suffocating aroma of roses. Roses...and blood. Suddenly, in the dark, quiet room came a voice, soft as velvet and spine-chilling as Death itself.

"Ah, Mr. Abernathy. Welcome."

**Two cliffhangers in one chapter? Pretty thrilling right? We'd both love any feedback you readers have to offer (constructive criticism approved and appreciated! We'd love any input on how to make the story flow better so it doesn't sound too much like two different writers). It inspires our mines to pump out new ideas and get those chapters out faster. Hope you enjoyed and stay tune for the next chapter! -Grace and Jen **


	2. Chapter one: Effie's POV

**AN: First off, we'd like to thank SmurfsTasteGoodOnToast, XmadlyinloveX, Changolian, Minerva-Amantine, valevilandra, illyna, nzlouise, AngelicAbernathy, Tattii, effies-scrapbook, loveu5missu6, YvelissaBlossom, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, Doc95, FunnyPuffins1600, Trinideanfan, gabisamore, Guest, grumpiah, Gatafairy, sequoia, lilyafterblue, Luce hutcherson, and egel-0507 for your reviews of last chapter. And of course, a huge thank you to those who favorited and alerted. Your support and kind words are very appreciated by us. We were joyfully surprised by the feedback we received and no word can describe how grateful we are. So, without further ado, here is chapter one.**

* * *

_Title: Forging Iron  
Summary: In which Haymitch and Effie are imprisoned in the Capitol. AU.  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Rating: M for violence, language, and sexual harrassment  
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Sorry, lawyers!_

* * *

Chapter One: Effie

* * *

Every person had their own aroma to them—or so Effie had noted in her lifetime. There was her late mother who smelled of warm cinnamon and lilacs. Or Haymitch Abernathy, whose reek of liquor could burn anyone's sensitive nostrils. Katniss Everdeen with her earthy, and yet, somehow pleasant scent of pine. And President Snow, the strong unmistakable odor of roses that always seemed to linger in his presence. But none of these compared to the stench of the figure that now crossed into her path of vision. A smell of dirt and filth, of rot and sweat. A scent that chilled the blood in her veins. The almost certain sign that this was someone of whom she should be very, very frightened.

"So you are the _famous _Effie Trinket?" A masculine voice sneered. "The bubbly escort from District Twelve is it?"

Effie felt her heart pounding as the figure stepped into the light. For the first time, her eyes pinpointed in on the features of the man who now stood nearly inches from her person. He wasn't young. From what she could tell, perhaps in his mid-forties. He had a full head of oily blond hair with bangs cropped just above his brows. Thin, cruel lips that were sliced on the left side by a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his chin. And eyes so black it was as if they were still trapped in the shadows of the room.

Her stomach knotted with nausea. The mere smell and look of him was enough to curdle her very blood.

"From Twelve, is it?" He repeated softly. "You are the District Twelve escort, correct?

Effie said nothing. Her hands trembled violently in their restraints. She was unsure of how to answer him. Was this a rhetorical question? Was he challenging her in some unknown way? Or maybe he truly was curious. Before Effie had time to ponder it further, something flashed in the corner of her eye before slamming full force into the bone of her jaw.

The fist had recoiled before Effie finally realized what had happened. She had been hit. Punched even. For a split second all she felt was complete, utter shock. Never had no man nor woman ever laid a finger on Effie Trinket in the name of violence. The idea that anyone ever would seemed absurd to her until this moment. Absentmindedly, she tried to reach up—without success—and touch the spot, the painful swell of a bruise already forming.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" He asked, fingers extended toward her chin. "You must excuse me. I have a slight temper problem."

Effie had no means of escape as his hand cupped her chin, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh as his dark eyes focused on hers. She felt the pad of his thumb stroking the swollen area of her face, each time harder than the next. A small part of her mind, perhaps the only sane part at the moment, told her not to struggle and allow him to do what he wanted. The fear of getting another blow to the face loomed in her thoughts as he brought his face closer.

"I just really hate," he said through gritted teeth, "when people don't answer me. Don't you hate that too, Ms. Trinket?"

Effie stiffened as she felt his hand begin to slide down her throat, goosebumps forming in his fingers' trails. It was then, without warning, that both of his hands locked around her neck, squeezing out any possible molecule of oxygen as his grip tightened.

"I just really _hate _it! It disgusts me! One might as well be in Avox in that case. Don't you agree?" He bellowed, droplets of his saliva landing on Effie's maroon cheeks.

Effie was squirming involuntarily now. Her chest ached, the feeling that it would surely burst if she didn't get a breath of air in a few seconds became more intense. Somehow, despite the pain and the literal shock of this all, she managed to give what appeared to be a nod. The only sign of response she was able to give.

It seemed to work. The man's grip relaxed before his hands finally dropped away from her neck. The rush of air that filled her lungs sent her into a fit of gasps and coughs as she finally regained the ability to breath. Panting hard, she looked up at his expression, noting the smirk that sat on his lips.

"Was that so hard?" he whispered. "All I asked you to do was answer me. Do we understand now what happens when we don't respond?" His fingers lingered only centimeters from her neck before dropping back down by his side. "I think it's a fair punishment. Don't you?"

"Yes," Effie replied hoarsely.

He smiled. "That's a good girl."

Effie felt his eyes trailing over her body. For whatever reason, her cheeks began to burn with embarrassment at his stare. She didn't like being gawked at; especially when she had a feeling the person had more than just her beauty on their mind.

"You're a lot more tasteful to look at than that Mason girl from District Seven." He said wryly. "And your tongue isn't as sharp. I like that."

Effie tried to avert her gaze as he spoke but found herself forced to look when his hand locked around her jaw once more, whipping her head to face his. She cringed, waiting for another hit to come. It did not.

"President Snow said that he believed we should meet," he said. "Get in an acquaintance of sorts. He thought it best for you to know that when you don't talk, I'm here to help you with that. And as much as I enjoy seeing you—though maybe next time without all of this getup on…" he leaned in close, his putrid breath causing bile to rise in Effie's throat. "I don't think you will enjoy seeing _me_."

The man's thumb began to caress the bruise on her cheek once more. Effie could hear the drumming of her heart in her ears. She tried again to look away, but this only caused him to tighten his grip on her. Their eyes met, and in response, her skin began to crawl. It was almost as if his black eyes seemed to glisten with pleasure at her discomfort.

"Please," she breathed. "You must believe me. I know nothing of this rebellion Snow speaks of."

He frowned softly, his tongue clicking at her words. "Tsk, tsk, Ms. Trinket. Weren't you ever taught not to lie?"

Effie watched as his lifted his free hand, index finger extended towards her face. Slowly, he brought it to her lips and encircled their fullness with it. She bit the inside of her cheek hard. The urge to scream for the help that surely wouldn't come building within her. Soon, the pain of her outer bruise was overtaken by the burn of raw flesh as the taste of blood coated her tongue. She stopped gnawing on her cheek, a small, unsuppressed whimper escaping from her lips.

"Now, now. There were will be none of that," he murmured lowly. "I won't have crying. Not when I haven't done anything to you yet. You're taking the fun out of things, Ms. Trinket. We haven't even started yet." His smile was cruel and lecherous. "You _do_ want to have fun, don't you?"

"I just want to go home," she whispered. "I don't belong here. Please, I have never broken any laws. I have no crimes against me. And this treatment… Surely it is illegal. I demand to speak to President Snow at once!"

"You are home, Ms. Trinket," he answered softly, his hand suddenly brushing down her neck, past her collar bone. "We are in the Capitol. Or, are you referring to somewhere else? District Twelve, maybe? Thirteen?" He smiled coyly. "And unfortunately, as much as I would like to allow you, President Snow is handling _other_ _matters_ at this time."

Effie stiffened even more where she sat when she felt his hand travel onward. She tried to find her voice, tried to find the will to shriek at him to stop. Where had the bold Effie she had known gone? Disappeared with all of the rest of her reality?

"Let me give you a real reason to scream." His voice was low in her ear as his hand hovered right over her chest. "Let's hear you scream for your Capitol."

As if on some sort of cue, the door on the far side of the room opened. At first, Effie feared that this was part of the man's plan but when she saw the evident sign of annoyance flash across his face, she could not help but feel relieved.

"Peacekeeper Gaius?" a voice asked.

"Marius," the man now Effie knew of as Gaius answered. "Why are you here? I gave you orders to leave me to my work."

"President Snow himself sent me," Marius replied, stepping forward into the light and revealing himself to be a young man, no older than late twenties. "He requires you for a new matter."

Gaius frowned deeply, crinkles forming around his scarred lip. "I'm in the middle of something. Can it not wait?"

"President Snow says it's mandatory." Marius replied.

Gaius let out what sounded like a low growl. "Very well," he mumbled. "I shall see to it whatever he needs done is accomplished." He paused for a moment. "Marius, take her to her cell. I'm sure President Snow would like me to interrogate her further later."

Effie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Gaius bent low, his face once more inches from hers. He leaned forward, his lips so close to her ear that his breath tickled her skin. If it had not been for the dead silence in the room, she would have never heard his words.

"I'll be back for you later. And this time, I'll bring a game with me."

He stood up and turned on his heels. Without a second look to her or to the man named Marius, he walked out of the room so slowly, and so calmly, it was as if nothing had occurred. The door shut behind him. After a few seconds, Marius began to make his way towards her.

Effie tensed up as he stopped in front of her. As if from an instinct now inflicted on her by Gaius, she cowered back in her seat as Marius reached forward, his intentions for her unknown to Effie at this time.

"Hold still." Marius said sternly as Effie struggled in her restraints. "Unless you want to tear that thing out of your arm."

Effie's eyes locked on the young man's dull, green orbs as he leaned forward, taking a hold of the IV that sat deep in her arm. With a surprisingly gentle tug, he slowly pulled the long needle from her forearm. A flood of lightheadedness swept over Effie as she stared weakly at the long, thin rod that had just been in her arm.

"Come on," Marius said as he undid her restraints. "Stand up."

Effie hobbled onto her feet, her body swaying from a sudden wave of weakness that washed over her. Nauseated by the sudden movement, she leaned forward and dry heaved. The sound of her vomitless retching cracking through the still air. Marius moved close and grasped her forearm tightly in his hand.

"If you're going to vomit, do it in your cell. I don't want to have to smell it all day," he grumbled, pulling her along his side as he led her out of the door and into a dark corridor.

Effie tried to figure out where they were as they made their way down the long passage. Never had she seen—or even heard—of a place like this in the Capitol. Curious, she looked to Marius, taking in his stern and yet, somehow non-frightening scowl. He reminded her closely of someone else she knew very well.

"What are you staring at?"

The unsuspected voice of Marius caused Effie to jump in surprise. She looked at his face once more but saw no change, nor even notice of him watching her. She bowed her head slightly, her eyes focusing on the side wall.

"What is this place?" she finally asked.

"It has no name," Marius replied as they turned a corner. "But it's no place you wish to be either."

"I don't wish to be here at all!" she exclaimed. "As I have told President Snow and that horrid man you call Gaius, I know nothing! There has been a mistake. How many times must I repeat myself?"

"If you speak truthfully of this," Marius said in a low voice, his grip tightening on Effie's arm, "then you would be wise to _keep silent_. President Snow does not keep prisoners that are of no use to him. If you know nothing, you are as good as dead." He paused. "Perhaps you would be better off that way..." his voice trailed off as they stopped in front of a thick, wrought iron door. "Death, in some ways, is more merciful than life."

There was a clink as Marius toyed with the door before it slowly creaked open, revealing behind his entrance a pitch black room. Desperate, Effie glanced at him, hoping that perhaps this was some sort of horrible trick. Marius did not offer a smile.

"Please…" was all she managed to say as he led her in. "Don't."

Marius stepped back, his figure disappearing as the darkness overtook Effie's sight. She squinted at the door, trying to grasp any light that lingered outside of it while it lasted. No such luck. There was only the fear of realization that this was truly happening as the door shut her inside, its slam echoing through the dead air like a Tribute's death cannon.

* * *

**AN: Gaius is quite the character isn't he? Anyway, we hope you enjoyed this chapter despite its dark undertone. Feedback including constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. We love knowing your thoughts and such. Next chapter will be in Haymitch's POV so stay in tune. Also, if you're curious to how we imagined Gaius and Marius to look, there is a link to a picture we did of them on our profile page. -Grace and Jen**


	3. Chapter two: Haymitch's POV

**First off, we'd like to give a huge thank you to XmadlyinloveX, Changolian, GataFairy, Nerd Beckett, valevilandra, Minerva-Amantine, K8 G.H. Ducey, revanha, gabisamore, Adessa101, Doc95, FunnyPuffins1600, LizzieHatter, BelieveInDream, and Guest for your kind and ever inspiring reviews of last chapter. We seriously appreciate all of the support you have given us. Now, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Forging Iron".  
**

* * *

_Title: Forging Iron  
Summary: In which Haymitch and Effie are imprisoned in the Capitol. AU.  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Rating: M for violence, language, and sexual harassment  
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Sorry, lawyers!_

* * *

Chapter two: Haymitch

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Abernathy. Welcome."

Haymitch's reaction was immediate. Instantly, as if Snow's mere voice was a trigger, hatred boiled inside of Haymitch. His teeth barred behind his snarling lips, his nostrils flared like a raging animal, and he clenched his fists until his nails left deep crescent marks in his calloused flesh. His hatred was so potent, Haymitch could taste it on his tongue— a bitter, metallic flavor like the blood on Snow's breath.

Haymitch forced himself to swallow back his loathing and said in a wry drawl, "Always a pleasure, Mr. President." Haymitch carefully watched Snow's approaching form. He stopped until he was close enough for Haymitch to make out his features clearly in the dark room. Years of staying awake during the night has given Haymitch the eyes of a bat. Sometimes being forcibly nocturnal had its perks.

Snow's lips twitched upward ever so slightly as if he were enjoying some hilarious private joke. "For once, Mr. Abernathy, you may just be right in your sentiments. Though, I admit, I am a bit surprised."

"Yeah?" Haymitch answered with a dark smirk. "Join the club."

"Indeed. Though I was sure I'd never have to resort to these measures. I had thought my last warning quite…efficient." Snow's eyes twinkled with a madness only few had seen in their lifetime. Haymitch was one of those few who were smart enough to identify it. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Fury boiled inside of Haymitch's stomach. Memories flooded his mind, horrific images bombarded his vision. Things that haunted Haymitch's nightmares and daydreams—and there was no drink to quench the assault. No longer caring about containing his unadulterated loathing for the vile old man, he spit, "What do you want, Snow?"

Snow started like he was appalled Haymitch hadn't figured it out. "Isn't it clear, Mr. Abernathy? Surely the reason is quite obvious."

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say that this isn't an invitation to go for a drink."

Snow chuckled. "Oh no, you're correct about that. But let's not dance around the subject now, Mr. Abernathy." The mask of politeness fell ever so slightly. The amused glint in his beady eyes was replaced with cold calculation. If his lips weren't so blown up from surgery, they would have thinned. "You _know_ why you're here."

"No, I really don't."

"What happened in the arena, Mr. Abernathy?"

"How should I know? I've been placed in this rat hole."

"To where has everyone escaped?"

"Don't you think if I'd known, I'd have escaped myself?"

President Snow sighed heavily. "You really aren't making this any easier on yourself. I hope you know that."

"And I hope you know that I honestly don't remember a thing."

"I highly doubt that."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

"I don't bet, Mr. Abernathy."

"You bet on the lives of children."

Snow's eyes flashed angrily, challengingly. "I grow tired of your games."

Haymitch's mouth stretched into a slow, bitter smile. "And I've grown tired of _yours_, Mr. President."

Snow drew back and straightened his shoulders, his calm and aloof air returning once more. "Indeed." He clasped his hands together and pressed his index fingers against his lips. He remained silent for a few moments, mulling over something in his head.

"Well," he at last chirped brightly. "I can see that we'll be getting nowhere this way. I did hope you'd be more compliant and reasonable. We'll just have to try something a little different."

"What are you gonna do, huh?" Haymitch growled, all earlier traces of mockery gone from his being. "Kill my family? Oh, wait. Looks like you've tried that, too."

"You're a clever man, Mr. Abernathy," Snow replied while gliding towards the door, deeper into the shadows and out of the limited sight Haymitch had in the dark. "Surely you know that I have other means of making sure you give me what I'm after."

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Look, I can't give you what I don't remember."

"I suppose." The underlying glee in Snow's voice was so apparent that Haymitch couldn't help but feel that little knot of apprehension in the pit of his rolling stomach. "Then we'll just have to jog your memory."

President Snow opened the lone door. A beam of light briefly illuminated the dark room enough for Haymitch to see the bloodthirsty tyrant exchange a solemn nod with a looming figure. As soon as the door had opened, it closed, encasing Haymitch in darkness once more.

The dark hair on Haymitch's arms and the back of his neck stood on end.

His eyes darted about the room, searching for the danger he sensed coming. They immediately snapped to the floor. The cold tile underneath Haymitch's bare feet began vibrating. The knot in his stomach grew.

As the vibrations became more pronounced, the room began to slowly glow in an eerie blue light. It was so dim, it was almost imperceptible. As the vibrations got stronger, the light got brighter. The vibrating traveled up his legs, through his wrists, and finally when it reached his spine, it burst into an explosion of pain while the room flashed a bright blue.

Searing pain quite literally shocked through Haymitch's spine, traveling all the way up to his cranium. His back arched away from the chair, his fists clenched, every nerve in his body crying out until he couldn't help but vocalize the agony. He felt like his body was on fire. He could practically taste the burning flesh as he gasped for air between shouts and groans.

_Fire. Burning._

It was like a movie reel playing in his head. He could remember.

He remembered what happened.

He remembered getting in a fight with Effie and storming out of their private viewing room, brushing past Darius and Lavinia, their Avoxes who were required to stay right outside the door should the argumentative duo require anything. Haymitch had been excruciatingly irritated with Effie—nothing new, really—but had brushed it off. He had spat some particularly rough insults this time around, and he briefly thought about going back and blaming it on the very limited alcohol he had consumed—his own pathetic version of an apology (it's not like he was ever truly repentant whenever he hurt her feelings). He had swallowed back the sudden impulse and settled for staying close to the farthest corner in the main viewing room that held sponsors and schmoozing mentors and escorts alike. When he looked at the large television screen, he knew it would be futile to find her anyway.

The time of action was almost upon the rebels.

Besides, it wasn't like he cared what Effie thought of him. It was unlikely they'd ever see each other again after the rebellion went fully under way.

Haymitch remembered slipping out of the main room and walking in the direction to Twelve's section. When he had been in sight of the door and two redheaded Avoxes, he caught their eyes and nodded, signaling them that it was time. Beetee had just given Johanna and Katniss the coiled wire. The three had a limited amount of time to sneak away to the emergency stairwell and race to the roof of the Game Headquarters. There they would hijack the two hovercraft stationed on their landing pads.

He remembered making it to the arena just minutes before Katniss shot her arrow and blew up the force field. He remembered a frenzied battle getting everyone out of there and into the designated vehicles—Katniss and Finnick with Plutarch, Peeta and Annie (should Plutarch have been able to smuggle her out of District Four) with Darius, and Johanna and Lavinia with Haymitch. He remembered flying his hovercraft when, suddenly, he felt a rough jolt that sent his head knocking hard against the side of the vehicle. He remembered lots of spinning, losing control, and a sharp impact. Then he remembered blackness.

He remembered everything.

The images subsided as the electric shock abruptly stopped. Haymitch coughed and gasped for breath, his throat raw from electricity and screaming. Sweat poured down his temples, and his stomach heaved. There were no contents in his stomach. Only dread as he realized just why he was being held captive. And he realized just how much pain he would have to endure in order to keep all of the information about the rebellion locked inside of him.

His sweat turned cold against his burning flesh. He knew the risks of being a leader in the rebel's cause. He took up the responsibilities gladly—and sober. But that didn't stop the fear at the oncoming terrors. Who knew what kind of creative form of torture President Snow had in mind?

The electric shock was bad enough. It had lasted no more than fifteen agonizing seconds. The utter anguish and memory flashes felt like it had been minutes.

Snow's voice came over a speaker that must have been hidden in the room somewhere. "I do hope you've recovered from you amnesia, Mr. Abernathy." Haymitch just barely managed a glare at the opposing wall. "Now, could you be so kind as to tell me what I need to know?"

Haymitch sucked in oxygen to speak. He hissed through his teeth at the scraping sensation tickling down his throat as air met raw flesh. He spoke venomously through his clenched jaw, "Over my dead body."

Snow's answer was calm and impassive as if he were merely discussing the weather and drinking tea in his parlor. "If you insist."

Before Haymitch could think of spitting a reply, he was overcome with the bone- breaking vibrations and white hot voltage coursing through his veins. The room burst into an eerie, bright blue, Haymitch's hair-raising scream piercing the empty room, echoing with each pulse of electricity.

* * *

**Poor Haymitch, electrocution is not much fun-except to Snow and his odd sense of amusement maybe. Anyway for those who are wondering, are dear Haymitch and Effie will eventually meet up. All in due time, dear readers. Any feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and loved. We talk everything into account and your words are a great motivator in our abilities to write. Effie's up next, so stay in tune! -Grace and Jen**


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